Fifteen
by Morralls
Summary: In the ten years that Nathan Ford hunted Sophie Devereaux for the IYS, he caught her fifteen times.
1. 1: Prague, Czech Republic

It was miserably hot, which only served to sour the already black mood of Nathan Ford, IYS insurance cop. He cursed his boss, Ian Blackpoole, for all he was worth. How could Ian send him on a retrieval at a time like this? Not for the first time that day, Nathan sought out a payphone and called his home.

"Hello?" Maggie sounded tired.

"Is he feeling any better?" Nate asked anxiously, skipping the preliminaries altogether. When he had called Maggie yesterday, she had informed him that their year-old son, Sam, was running a fever of 100.2, a very unhealthy number for a baby. He had been annoying Maggie by calling her all day to ask how Sam was feeling, and if the fever had gone down, ever the picture of a doting father.

"Nate, what time is it in Damascus?"

"About six in the afternoon." Nathan replied, trying to figure out what the relevance was.

"Which makes it about three here. In the morning, Nate." Maggie told him. "Sam isn't going to feel better if Daddy doesn't let him sleep it off."

"Sorry." Nate replied, suitably chastised.

"Don't apologize. Just don't call for at least another six hours." Nate heard Maggie yawn, and when next she spoke, her voice was softer, more understanding. "If anything at all happens Nate, I promise that you'll be the first to know, but right now you have to focus on getting your mark and coming home."

"I know." Nate sighed. She was right. The sooner he found the missing Monet, the sooner he could go home and see his family. "I love you Maggie. Goodnight."

"Love you too Nate." Maggie hung up, and Nathan forced himself to focus. He had to find his thief and the stolen Degas. So far, his contacts had been useless, but he had a few good informants left. He called another number. The phone rang twice, and then someone picked up.

"…"

"Talk to me, Weasel." Nathan said quietly.

"You know me better than that by now. I specialize in listening." Weasel replied, just as quietly.

"I need a name."

There was a snicker on the other end. "And who is unfortunate enough to attract the Predator's eye?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be on the phone with you Weasel. My mark stole a Degas in Prague three days ago. Apparently, she's been here for a few days, and she claimed to be and art professor named Elizabeth Downy."

"Got a description for me so I can match a picture to it?"

"She's about five-foot six, has a high-heel fetish, has brown hair and brown eyes, and is supposedly very pretty and charming. I think I'm going for a grifter here."

"You are, and I can give you a location, but not a name." Weasel said. "She's meeting in the town center with a possible buyer. She wants to unload the Degas painting."

"Excellent. Who's the potential buyer? I can get him too." Nate said, a grim smile on his face.

"Actually, you can't get him. By the rules of our arrangement…"

"You help me find my mark when I call, and I don't hunt you down." Nate recited. "Weasel?"

"Yes Predator?"

"I'd miss your meeting with the thief if I were you."

"I plan to, She'll be waiting at an outside café at seven. Be on time, because she won't wait long."

"She won't have to. Goodbye Weasel."

"Enjoy your hunt, Predator." The line went dead. Nathan hung up the payphone and hailed a taxi. He climbed in and told the driver where to go.

As the taxi carted him to the town center, Nathan gazed out the window, never quite dropping his guard, while he thought. Weasel's information was good. Nathan knew that he could rely on what this informant told him. The man's nickname, Ferret, came from his uncanny ability to ferret out exactly what information his client needed. Nathan call him Weasel because of the first time the agent had been sent to find the man. His apartment had been completely empty, except for a note left on the floor with a phone number written on it. When Nate had called the number, they struck their deal, and the man had weaseled his way out of being arrested by Nate, thus earning his name.

Likewise, Weasel called Nate 'Predator' because of his unwillingness to give up on a hunt and his tendency to track down his mark every time. Annoyingly, very few of Nathan's numerous informants called him by name. One called his Nathan, one called him Ford, and two called him Agent. To the others, he was Hound, Raptor, Hawk, Hunter, Badger, Brain, Sarge, and Dragon. He hadn't yet decided if all informants were fond of nicknaming their clients, or if he just had the crazies. Either way, it didn't really matter.

The taxi dropped him off at the town center, and he threw some money over the seat and got out. It was almost seven. He could see the little café across the commons area, and he studied the outdoor seating area. From a safe distance, he surveyed the tables. There was a couple in their mid-twenties, oblivious to the world around them. There was a woman and her two sons, and there! There was his mark, sitting comfortably and looking for all the world as though she owned the café.

From his safe distance, Nathan drooled, eyeing the smooth, tanned skin of her crossed legs, the way she regarded the world like it was there only because she let it be. His eyes feasted on her hair, curled expertly and falling around her face, accenting her prominent cheekbones and full, red lips. He found himself admiring the way her fingers curved gracefully around her glass of wine, and how she absently twirled the liquid in the glass. She looked around, and their eyes met. She looked slightly surprised, and he was still dazzled. A group of students walked past Nate, cutting off his view, and when his line of sight was clear again, he saw an empty table with an abandoned glass of wine sitting on it. He swore and started across the commons. He saw the grifter duck into an alley, and broke into a smooth jog, following her trail.

She was good. Within five blocks, he had lost her. He cursed again and went to a payphone, calling Weasel.

"…"

"Where's her safe house Weasel?! Where is the Degas hidden?!" Nate barked into the phone, his patience gone.

"I don't know." Weasel said, too quickly.

"Figure it out, fast, or our arrangement is over and I'll come after you next."

"Oh, I think I just found the address!"

"Smart rodent." Nathan growled. Weasel gave him the address, and Nate hung up in the middle of Weasel's goodbye. He went to the safe house and broke in efficiently. The apartment room was devoid of the thief, but it did have the Degas. Nathan decided to take what he could get. He could come back for the art thief. He took the painting and left the apartment carefully, then returned it to the museum. The rest of his day was spent giving the museum director tips on how to protect against thieves and grifters, until it was late enough that he could beat a retreat to his hotel room. When it was one am, and therefore ten where Maggie was, he called her.

"Hello?"

"Hi Maggie. How's Sam?"

"His fever is gone, and he slept all night. He seems to be doing fine." Nate experienced a moment of extreme relief. "Did you catch your thief?"

"She got away, but the Degas didn't. It's back at the museum and I told the director what he could do to improve security." Nate said. "I'm coming home tomorrow."

"Are you sure the thief won't just steal it again tonight?"

"I found her hidey hole. She'll go to ground… lay low for six months or so before she starts stealing again. She recognized me. We're getting a reputation, Maggie."

"Criminals, beware." Maggie laughed. "I'll see you when you get home Nate. I love you."

"I love you too Maggie. I'll see you tomorrow." He hung up the phone and went to bed. That night, he dreamt he chased a beautiful brunette around the streets of Prague, following her tirelessly, though it wasn't because she was a criminal.


	2. Damascus, Syria

1The stone buildings of the capitol city of Syria towered over the inhabitants. It was a crowded, place, a commons area. The main street was wide, with boutiques and cafes lining it. Alleyways branched off the main road, and in one such alleyway, a man crouched, all but hidden in shadows.

Nathan Ford resisted the urge to stretch his legs. His knees protested his stillness, but he ignored the pain. He needed to stay as invisible as possible while he waited. Being seen by the wrong people could prove very dangerous. Not that he expected his mark to harm him. He was chasing an art thief, and in his experience, art thieves were rarely violent. They specialized in being unseen and unheard, in being gone before anyone knew that they had been there. Guns, knives, any fighting at all: it wasn't their style. No, here he was dealing with subtlety, so he had to be subtle.

His mark had stolen a Monet, and it was his job to retrieve it- and the thief. Weasel had it on good information that his mark was meeting with a potential buyer here at six. Nathan had been here since four o'clock, crouching in the shadows and watching people pass by. So far, he hadn't seen the thief, but he was watching the buyer.

The man was sitting at a table, looking around expectantly, neither food nor drink sitting before him. Nate checked his watch, very slowly lifting his wrist to his eyes. It was two minutes 'till, and thieves were seldom, if ever, late. They generally arrived a few minutes before their meeting to try and detect a betrayal. Nathan had no doubt that the thief was somewhere nearby, checking for a double cross. He waited, counting down the time carefully until the designated meeting time.

At six exactly, she walked out of the store to Nathan's left and strolled casually to the table, where she sat down. She was tall, probably about five foot eight, with amazing legs, brown hair that fell to her narrow shoulders, and grace befitting of a dancer, not a thief. She was wearing a black pencil skirt that fell just above the knee, exposing her perfect calves, and three-inch black stilettos, which he could hear hit the street in a steady staccato click. The thinness of her waist was shown off by the black jacket she wore, which was tapered in precisely the right spot.

She flagged a waiter and ordered a coffee, which was promptly delivered to her. Nate rose to his full height. It was time to catch his thief.

Nate stood to his full height and walked across the street, taking care to be inconspicuous. He pretended to slip his hands into his pockets, but his right hand never finished the journey, curling around the handle of his gun. He could listen in as he got closer.

Her voice was cool, almost musical, and she spoke with a British lilt. "...think you'll be very pleased, and that's quite close enough, Agent Ford."

Nathan stopped, surprised, but quickly recovered. The potential buyer gave him a terrified look and scrambled away, but the thief simply took another sip of coffee. He switched languages as he pulled out his badge and gun, so that the Syrian public would be able to understand him. "My name is Agent Nathan Ford with IYS Insurance. You're under arrest for theft. Stand up slowly and turn around. Don't make any sudden moves." He switched to English so that the thief would be able to understand him. "My name is-"

"Yes, yes I heard you." The thief set her coffee down and obeyed. Shock ran through him. He had seen her before, in Prague. She was the one that had gotten away. She was more stunning up close, smirking at him. "Well played Agent Ford."

"You're the criminal I lost two years ago... in-"

"Prague. I never introduced myself. I'm Sophie Devereaux."

"Nathan Ford." He replied. He put his badge away and gave her a pleading look. "Will you come along, or do I have to keep this gun out and make a scene?"

"I'll be good." She promised, looking pleased. "You don't like guns?"

Nate slipped his gun back into its holster. "I don't like drawing attention." He placed a hand on her shoulder, restraining, and led her out of the commons area. When they were away from the crowd, he released her shoulder, letting her walk freely at his side.

"I'm impressed. Some of the agents I've come across won't take the gun barrel out of the small of my back, much let give me my freedom."

"I've noticed that some people are overly fond of the tactic. I don't like threatening people. Some people feel empowered when they threaten their marks. I feel… low, underhanded, like I'm not fighting fair. Besides, I don't need to threaten you. I would catch you before you got very far." Nate replied.

"You're probably right Nathan."

"Agent Ford." Nathan corrected. Sophie continued on as though she hadn't heard him.

"I probably wouldn't get very far, especially not in heels."

"No, I doubt you would." Nate agreed. His stomach growled, and he frowned. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and he had only eaten a bagel. "Are you hungry, Miss Devereaux?"

"Sophie." She corrected. "I wouldn't mind dinner. First though, could we stop at my apartment? I'd like to change into something more comfortable."

Nate opened the passenger side door for Sophie, surveying her tight-fitting clothes and high heels, then nodded. He could understand that. He went to the driver's side and got in to find her snapping her seatbelt, then settling down quietly to wait for him. He was impressed. "Most thieves would have made a break for it."

Sophie looked him over, her gaze almost hungry. "Most thieves don't have a dinner date with someone who looks like you."

Nate flushed and looked resolutely out the windshield. "It's not a 'date', Miss Devereaux. I'm hungry and I don't trust you out of my sight."

"Aren't you defensive." Sophie sounded amused. "Why shouldn't it be a date?"

Nate presented her with his left hand and the gleaming silver wedding ring he wore. Her eyes zeroed in on it and she gave him a playful smile tinged with… _something_… regret? Sadness? "Who is she?

"Her name is Maggie." Nate replied. "What's the address to your apartment?"

She told him and he started towards the street. "Any children?"

"We have a son."

"What's his name?"

"Sam."

"How old is he?" Sophie asked.

"Three, almost four."

"He's young."

"Yep."

"Is this him?" Nate glanced over to see that she had stolen his wallet and was looking at a photo of Sam.

"You pick-pocketed me!"

"I'm a thief. That's what I do." She slipped the wallet back into his pocket with a smirk, and he drove the rest of the way to her apartment in surly silence. She turned slightly to watch him as he parked. "Would you like to come inside?"

"If I'm not there to watch you, you'd probably vanish without a trace."

"As cute as you are Nathan, I'd leave a hint." Sophie replied, winking.

"Stop that." Nate commanded, following her to her doorstep. She paused, her key in the lock, and looked at him in surprise.

"Stop what?"

"You're flirting." He accused.

"Oh." She opened the door and ushered him in. "There's nothing I can do about that."

"What do you mean?" Nate asked suspiciously.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "It's nearly impossible for a woman to be completely innocent and stoic around an attractive man, especially if she is, by nature, a flirt."

"Even if said man is married and here to arrest the flirt." Nate said dryly. She smirked.

"Especially then. If he's unavailable, he's all the more desirable." She pushed him down onto the couch, leaning over him with her hands on his shoulders. "Wait here. I'll just be a few minutes."

"Ten minutes, no more. If you're not back by then, I'm coming in after you." Sophie kissed his cheek, then whispered her words with her cheek to his so her breath flitted across his ear.

"Ooh. Don't tempt me." She crooned. Nate shivered, and she smiled mischievously. She pulled away, turned gracefully, and slunk into her room in a way that was far too sensual for a woman with a married man. She was doing this on purpose. Nathan would put money on it.

Exactly eleven minutes later, Sophie emerged, and Nathan, still on the couch, swallowed hard. "_That's_ more comfortable?" His gaze traveled up her body, the trip taking a painstakingly long time and leaving him slightly dizzy by the time he reached the top. She was in strappy black heels, her perfect ankles crossed in a way that managed to be both casual and sensual at the same time. Her smooth calves were left bare, and Nate was impressed that somehow she managed to make it possible to see how silky and soft her skin was. Her dress was tight fitted, loose at the neckline so it hung in layers at the top. It fit perfectly around her waist, showing off her hourglass figure. The skirt part of it was comprised of a black slip the fell halfway down her thighs. There was another layer of sheer fabric that fell, flowing to her knees. Aside from two straps, the dress was sleeveless, showing off far more satiny skin than Nate deemed necessary. Her hair fell, curling around her face in thick, soft layers. It was enough to leave Nate weak at the knees, and he was thankful that he was already sitting.

The way she smirked at him let him know that she was fully aware of his reaction. "It's more comfortable for a night out."

It took Nate a long minute to find his voice, but when he did, he made sure to put the right kind of surliness in it. "This is not a night out, or a date. It's me being hungry and smarter than to let you out of my sight." Nate warned.

"That doesn't mean it can't be a date." Sophie said, sitting on the arm of the couch and crossing her legs smoothly. The dress rode up in a way that was too smooth to be an accident, exposing bare, silky thigh. Nate swallowed hard.

"It's not." He reiterated, trying to tear his gaze away from that expanse of skin. His hands curled into fists on his knees, his knuckles white with the effort of keeping them still. "Are you done?"

"Are you?" Sophie asked, a smile in her voice. She moved, shifting the thin sheer skirt over her legs. It didn't cover the skin any more than it made him stop wanting to _touch_ her somehow. To reach out and brush his fingers along her perfect jaw. To take her hand. _Something_. All the same, it was enough for him to move his gaze away and glare at her _face_.

"Am I what?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Never mind." She stood and offered him a hand. "Yes, I'm finished. Let's go."

Nate stood, ignoring her hand. "Fine." He led the way to his car, with Sophie trotting along at his shoulder. He opened the passenger door, telling himself that it was only so that she wouldn't run and that there were no romantic implications with the gesture. He could tell from her smile that she didn't believe it any more than he did. She brushed against his hand as she got in, and he closed the door harder than he meant to before walking around to his side of the car.

"I thought that you didn't like cops who were surly and treated criminals like vermin." Sophie said quietly, not looking away from the windshield.

Nate growled. "You're not vermin. You're a flirt, and I don't appreciate it."

"Even if you enjoy it." She said, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I don't." He lied, irritated.

"Again with that defensive thing." She was smirking shamelessly now.

"Sophie, shut up."

"By all means, Nate." Sophie replied, the smirk on her lips seriously starting to annoy him.

He drove to the nearest restaurant, parked, and got out. Sophie climbed out and slipped an arm through his, ignoring his efforts to pull away. After a moment of fruitless tugging, he surrendered his arm, allowing her to stay there.

The inside of the restaurant was dark, the lighting poor, and, of course, they were given a table in a nearly empty spot. Nate sighed and sat down, ordering a bottle of wine when the waiter appeared.

"I hope that's for both of us." Sophie said, smiling lightly as the waiter vanished.

"Of course." Nate replied, settling back comfortably. "I didn't want it just for me."

"Tell me about yourself, Nate."

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about Sam."

Nate smile, thinking of the three year old. "He's great." He laughed quietly. "Now that he's learning to talk, he's never quiet. He smart, always asking questions. He wants to know who, what, when, where, _why_?"

"He sounds delightful. He looks just like you." Nate smiled and nodded.

"Maggie says so too. It drives her insane."

"Maggie is your wife? How'd you two meet?" Sophie asked, looking particularly interested.

"She works for IYS with me. She's basically Ian Blackpoole's art expert." Nate replied.

"I see. Office romances, I suppose?" The waiter appeared with the wine. Nate poured them each a glass.

"I guess." Nate shrugged.

"Basically, she verifies everything you bring home." Sophie translated. Nate smiled.

"Pretty much." His smile grew wider, more personal. "There's nobody better."

Sophie nodded and took a sip of her wine, pleased that Nate was staring by the time she lowered her glass. She smirked, and he scowled.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" Sophie asked, too innocently.

"You're teasing again. Stop flirting."

She sighed. "I can't help it."

"Yes you can." Nate retorted. "I don't know who has come after you in the past, but you've probably gotten away from quite a few agents in your time."

The smirk was back. "And/"

"And it's because you're a flirt." Nate informed her. "You're a tease, and you use that to get away."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Sophie said lightly.

"You make men think they're special, or different, and then you trick them into letting you go. It's not until later that they realize that every word you said was a lie."

"Not _every _word." Sophie disagreed. "Just most of them. But this is…" She looked at him guiltily. "…different." Nate snorted, and she sighed. "It's true. You're not like they say you are."

"Like who said I was?" Nate asked suspiciously.

Sophie struggled for words to explain it. "I'm not…lazy, Nathan. I do my homework. When IYS has an up-and-coming agent, I make it my business to know their names and faces. To learn their tricks, their talents, their defining factors. When the name _Nathan Ford_ started popping up everywhere, I learned everything that I could about you. One thing that came up time and time again was that you're an _honest man_. You aren't like other insurance men. They don't care who's guilty or who's innocent- just who pays. You, though… _you_ find out who's guilty. 'Honest man Nathan Ford always gets the bad guy'. I heard that _everywhere_." She explained. Dinner arrived and she paused until the waiter left before continuing. "And then today, we met. Right from the beginning, there was something about you. How you're so insanely _good_, even though most people who chase thieves lose their faith in people. You haven't."

"And you can tell this from knowing me for an hour?" Nate scowled and too a bite of food.

"I read people for a living, Nate, and you're easy to read. Remarkably so." She took a bite as well, lifting her fork slowly to her mouth and taking a bit, teasing him. He looked resolutely at his meal, trying in vain to control his thoughts. "You're not like anyone I've ever met. You're not corrupt or particularly cruel, even though I'm a thief. It's odd, and strangely endearing." Nate looked up in surprise and Sophie toasted him with her wine. "To you Nate, and who you are." She drained the glass and set it down with a smile.

Nate raised an eyebrow. "Theatrical, aren't you?"

"I'm an actress Nate." Sophie grinned. "What do you expect?"

She had a point. The check came, and Nate looked at her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. Let's go." Sophie stood up and waited for Nate to count out the bills and leave them on the table, complete with a generous tip.

The sun had set, leaving them illuminated by street lights. Sophie rounded on him. "Thank you Nate, for a lovely evening." She pressed a kiss against his cheek, and his cerulean eyes widened. Then, she was taking off down the street, leaving Nate with one hand touching his cheek, a dazed expression on his face.

Twice now, he had lost his thief.


	3. Paris, France Part 1

There were few cities that Nathan Ford didn't like, but there was only one that he truly _hated_.

He stepped into the Charles-de-Gaulle airport with a long-suffering sigh. Paris. He _hated_ Paris. He remembered taking French classes in high school: the culture, the language, the government.... there were few things he could stand even _less_ than France.

He was fluent in the language, but that came from years and years of chasing thieves into Paris. Being able to speak the language didn't make it any less irritating.

"Bienvenu a Paris, Nathan." The words grated on his nerves, even more so when he recognized the voice.

"Sophie Devereaux." He turned to glare at her, his hand going to the empty holster on his hip. She smirked and looped an arm through his, leading him toward the luggage belt.

"How do you like Paris, Nathan?"

"Agent Ford." Nate corrected tiredly. "I hate Paris."

Sophie stopped abruptly, holding him still. "_What_?!"

"I hate Paris." Nate reiterated.

"Nathan, how is it _possible_ to hate Paris?" Sophie demanded.

"It's not as hard as you think. I've never met someone French who isn't bad tempered and stubborn."

"I'm part French." Sophie growled.

Nate grinned. "Exactly my point." He replied, watching his bags go by and tugging uselessly at his arm.

"I could be horrible offended by that."

"You're _British_. Are you supposed to hate France by nature?"

"That's rubbish. France is beautiful." Sophie replied. "Are you going to get your things? They're almost gone."

Nate tugged his arm out of her grip and chased after his bags, catching them just in time. He turned to see Sophie trying to hide a smirk behind her hand. He glared at her as he returned to her side. "You stole another Degas. _L'Entrees des Masques._"

Sophie looked offended, though her eyes danced. "I'm shocked and hurt that you would believe me capable of such a thing, Nathan."

Nate snorted. "Sure you are." She just laughed, and he strode out of the airport and hailed a cab, paying ahead of time from the pile of francs in his pocket, ratting off the address of the hotel in fluent French, his accent flawless. Sophie raised her eyebrows and spoke in Greek.

"You hate France, but you speak the language as though you're native to Paris."

"Get out of my cab, Sophie Devereaux." Nate replied.

"You know, your attitude makes you far less attractive than you could be." She leaned in. "What's your secret Nathan? I expect you're full of surprises."

"My secrets are none of your business."

"Since my crimes are under your jurisdiction, it really is my business."

"No, it's _not_!" Nate retorted. "What you need to know is that it's my job to arrest you."

"Hmm... Maybe you're just intriguing." Sophie replied, smiling.

"I'm not." Nate snapped. "And unless you want to get arrested and thrown in jail, you'd do well to find me _less_ intriguing."

Sophie sighed, returning to French. "Just what is it about me that makes you so angry?"

"You're a thief. I'm not interested in becoming friends with someone I have to hunt down. It complicates things."

"Things are already complicated. Just because someone steals art doesn't make them a bad person, Nate." Sophie said softly. "You see the world in black and white, but it's not like that. There _are_ grey areas. I'm not evil. I don't hurt people."

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. "You break the law for your own selfish reasons. You don't think about anything but yourself. You never stop to wonder if _maybe_ the painting has meaning for the person you stole it from?" He demanded. "And all for a _payout!_ Art isn't about _money_, Sophie! It's about _passion_!"

Sophie watched him with wide eyes. "That's it." She murmured. "That's why you're so dedicated to your job. It's not about money. It's about the art."

"What are you talking about?"

"You _love it_. You love the paintings you recover. I bet you love it all: art, theatre, music.... I bet that you _adore_ it." Nate stared at her, although he knew that it was as good as agreeing with her. "See? We're not so different after all, are we Nate?"

The taxi pulled up and Nate stumbled out, eager to get away from the thief who was just like him. He checked in, in a daze, and went to his room, throwing his bags onto the bed and calling Maggie."Hello?"

"Do you think that we may not be so different from the criminals?" Nate asked, chewing his lip.

"Nate?" Maggie laughed. "Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"

"I'm serious, Maggs. I mean, they steal art, and I get it back, but it's all about the same thing, right? Our _lives_ revolve around art, music, and theatre. How can we be sure that we're not just like them?"

"Because Nate, we enjoy art at museums and follow the laws and rules. What we enjoy doesn't make us who we are. What we _choose_ is what's important." Maggie murmured. "It's the reason they're liars and you're honest."

Nate sighed. "You're right."

"What brought this on, Nate?" Maggie asked softly, worry coloring her voice. "I've never heard you think like this."

"I know. I was just trying to psychoanalyze the thief, I guess." Nate lied. Guilt gnawed at his stomach, but he ignored it as best he could, a silent prayer running through his mind.

"You can't psychoanalyze thieves, Nate." Maggie teased. "They're not like us"

"Who's to judge that?" Nate demanded.

"_You've_ said that before." Maggie replied, sounding hurt.

"You're right. I know. I'm sorry." Nate shook his head. What was _wrong_ with him? "I guess I'm just in a weird mood tonight."

"You're okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Nate assured her. "It's getting late, Maggs. Get some sleep."

"Call me tomorrow?"

"Of course. I love you." Nate said fervently.

"I love you too, Nate." Maggie murmured. He listened as she hung up, the laid back, sighing to the ceiling. Damn the grifter, the _thief_, who wanted so badly to complicate his life.

"It's simple." He growled, trying to convince himself. "She's a thief. A criminal. She tries to make men believe what she wants them to so that she doesn't get arrested. You're acting like you're twenty five again, just into the insurance game." He stared at the ceiling. "Remember what happened last time you gave a damn about a grifter. Remember _Nicole_." The memory stung, but it reaffirmed his belief. The next time Sophie showed up, he'd be ready to deal with her.

She showed up at breakfast the next morning. When his food arrived, he received two of everything. "Pardonez-moi, mais je ne-"

"Relax, Nathan. Half of it's for me, of course." Sophie slid into the booth, pulling a cup of coffee towards her.

"I'm not paying for all that." Nate growled, raising his gaze to hers. She raised her eyebrows, her cinnamon eyes dancing.

"Calm down. It's just breakfast, Nathan. It's not a date." Nate bit his lip, surprised by the way her words stung.

"I don't want to have breakfast with you." Nate retorted sharply. " I want you to give me the Degas and then leave me the hell alone."

"Sorry darling. You can't have both." Sophie sing-songed.

"Don't call me that.... and eat your damn food." She smirked and took a slow bite of food, pulling the fork slowly from her lips. She swiped the leftover raspberry syrup from her lips with her thumb, then sucked it off her thumb, her eyes on his the entire time. Nate stared helplessly, his lips parted. She smirked. He flushed and looked at his food. He didn't look up again until she stood, revealing perfect ankles resting above four inch stilettos. Nate's gaze took a long time to travel all the way to her eyes.

"Well Nate, it's been a _pleasure_." She purred. "I'm sure I'll see you again _very _soon." She leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek, leaving a print of red lipstick, then left, leaving him with the check.

Nate paid irritably and hailed a cab to take him to the museum from where she had stolen the Degas. The art director, Jean Girard was waiting for him.

"Agent Ford!" The man exclaimed in accented English."I am so glad you're here! Our expert, Jacqueline Rennes is only here for another hour, and I want you to speak with her. Her English is far better than my own." He grabbed Nate's hand and dragged him to the restoration room, where someone with perfect ankles on red stilettos and curled brown hair faced away from the door. Nate sighed. Damn her. "Jacqueline!"

She turned. "Jean, and Agent Ford."

"You know each other?"

"Yes. How are you, Monsieur Ford?" Sophie asked, a French accent rolling smoothly from her mouth.

"I've been better." Nate replied. He offered her a cordial smile as he gritted his teeth. She had him trapped, but good. If he exposed her for what she was, he would be under investigation as a 'possible accomplice', and IYS wouldn't bother to shell out the money to help him get out of a French jail to clear his name. He couldn't expose Sophie until he had the painting. "And you, Mademoiselle Rennes?"

"Very well, thank you for asking." Sophie replied with a charming grin, her eyes dancing with mischief. "How can I help you today, Monsieur Ford?"

"Tell me what you know about the missing Degas and the thief who stole it. I assure you that I will catch the immoral, selfish, poor excuse for a human being who stole it." Nate held her gaze. Sophie's smile tightened, her eyes flashing angrily.

"Thank you, Agent Ford." Girard said. "I can't express what that means to me."

"Please. I'm only doing my job." Nate replied. "Mademoiselle Rennes?"

Sophie smiled. "You'll have to excuse the history lesson. It helps me keep the facts straight. Of course you know that _L'Entrees des Masques_ was part of the _Fleur de Ballet _collection. This painting actually wasn't seen until after Degas' death in 1923."

Nate frowned, glancing up from his notepad. _Degas died in 1917._ She raised an eyebrow and winked, and he nodded slightly. "I see. What about the thief?"

"I fear that the thief who stole it managed to just take it and walk off with it. Of course, getting rid of the painting will be harder. An auction is always one...." She paused, appearing to search for the right word. "..._avenue_, but this museum is holding the only auction for months. He or she will have to get it out of Paris to sell it, and I doubt the thief will stick around for more than two days. I would advise you to find the painting _tonight_, Agent Ford, or it will likely no longer be there. The thief didn't leave any clues, but hopefully you'll find something helpful in those notes of yours."

Nate looked at his notepad, a quickly written transcript of Sophie's impromptu lecture, word perfect. Her message was clear. His clue was hidden somewhere in his notes. He just had to find it. "Alright. I think I have enough to go on for now. I'll call if I need any additional information." He left, and hailed a cab back to his hotel room, reading over the notes. Little things popped out, but it didn't make any sense. _Fleur? 1923?_ He couldn't figure it out. He turned the news on low volume in his hotel room, still poring over the transcription of her lecture.

"...In other news, Beaumont Children's Hospital received a donation three days ago of 1400000 francs from an ex-employee. Jacqueline Rennes worked on the pediatric floor. She was reported to have gotten very close to the children she worked with, some of whom were scheduled to be released from the hospital because of monetary problems. The hospital director was reported saying that Rennes' donation saved the hospital, and the lives of several of the children." Nate stared at the screen, then grabbed his coat, tucking his notes into his pocket. He hailed a cab to take him to the hospital, on Fleur Avenue. He stepped inside and went to the pediatric floor. He saw a child sitting on a bench and sat down beside him.

"Excuse me? Did you know Mademoiselle Jacqueline Rennes?" He asked, speaking quietly in French to the kid. The boy's eyes lit up.

"Mademoiselle Jackie?" He asked. "Yes!"

"I was wondering... what can you tell me about her?"

"She's wonderful!" The boy exclaimed. "Thanks to her, my sister got to stay! She was making such progress, but they were going to send her home. If not for Mademoiselle Jackie, Adrienne wouldn't have anywhere to go." He smiled, tears in his eyes. "My little sister would have died if not for Jacqueline Rennes."

Nate nodded slowly, amazed. "I see. What's your name?"

"Gabriel."

"That's a good name. I'm Nate." He smiled softly. "Wish Adrienne well for me, Gabriel, and thank you for talking to me."

"Of course." Gabriel smiled. "Do you know her?"

"Adrienne?"

"No. Mademoiselle Jacqueline."

Nate hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes."

"Tell her that Adrienne is doing a lot better, and that Gabe said '_merci beaucoup_.'"

Nate couldn't help but smile. "I'll tell her." He walked out, standing by the street sign, looking at it. _Fleur Avenue_. He hailed a cab. "Is there a 1923 Fleur Avenue?" The cabbie nodded. Nate threw a bill over the seat. "Take me there."

The trip was short, and soon Nate was looking at her safehouse. He tried the door, but it was locked. He picked the lock and crept in, listening attentively. He heard something above him, and climbed the stairs, being careful to be silent. He followed the sound down the hall, pausing to listen outside the door.

He hesitated with one hand on the door handle. After what he had learned, did he really want to do this? No. After what she had done, he no longer believed that she deserved to be arrested. But he had no choice. He threw the door open and she stood up. "Freeze!"

She grabbed a gun and shot at him, and he shot back as a natural reaction, coughing slightly. Blood blossomed across her lower back and she turned, looking stunned, her breathing ragged. "You wanker." She accused.

Nate watched in horror as she collapsed.


	4. Paris, France Part 2

She came to slowly through a haze of pain. "Sophie, please, wake up. Come on, Sophie." He was begging, and the way she was laying was stretching her back painfully. "Talk to me." He whimpered. She could feel soft hands brushing her hair back from her eyes.

She obliged. "You…. Shot me." She gasped.

"I know, I know." Nate murmured, relief visible on his features. "I'm going to pick you up, okay? You need to get to a hospital.

"No! No hospitals." Sophie demanded. "Do you know how to deal with bullet wounds?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Do it, Nate." He sighed and picked her up, cringing as she winced and murmuring an apology. He set her down carefully, letting her lay on her stomach and gingerly taking off her coat and shirt to reveal the wound. "There are things in the bathroom cabinet." He murmured tiredly, half asleep.

"Stay awake, Sophie. Tell me about how you got the Degas out of the museum." Nate suggested, searching frantically through the bathroom.

"It was a… rip deal." Sophie told him, wincing slightly. "I went in, pretending to be an art expert." She shrugged, then hissed in pain.

"Hey, be careful." Nate warned, sitting himself on the edge of the bed. He had a warm washcloth in his hand, carefully cleaning away the blood with a gentle touch. She relaxed under his capable hands. "So how did you pull it off?"

"It really wasn't that difficult." She murmured. "All it took was telling the art director that it clashed with the Picasso and that I could find it a better place. He had it moved and I snuck it out of the restoration room.

"Sneaky." Nate approved. "I have to dig the bullet out, Soph. This is probably going to hurt, but I need you to try to stay still, okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't the first time I've been shot, Nate. Just do it." Nate took a hold of what looked like an enormous pair of tweezers and carefully dug for the bullet.

"It doesn't look like anything got damaged." Nate murmured. "The bullet isn't very deep.'

"Of course nothing got damaged. You know your anatomy and you're a good shot." Sophie said through gritted teeth as Nate pulled the bullet out.

He wiped away the extra blood and dug through the little kit for something to clean the wound with. "You put a lot of faith into the belief that I won't hurt you. Are you sure it's not misplaced?"

"Nate, you shot me, panicked, and now you're taking care of me." Sophie replied calmly. "I'm fairly confident that it's not misplaced. "

"Fair point." Nate ceded, cleaning the wound. "I heard about what you did for that hospital. Gabriel sends his thanks for his sister's life."

Sophie smiled. "Gabe's a sweet kid. He reminded me of you."

"Why's that?" Nate asked, threading a needle.

"It's the eyes." Sophie admitted. "He has big blue eyes that are almost as easy to read as yours."

"My eyes are easier to read than a twelve-year-old's?" Nate asked. "I'm stitching it up now."

"You really have no idea how expressive your eyes are." Sophie chuckled, then winced.

"Stay still." Nate ordered. "What do you mean expressive?"

"I mean that your moods are easy to read. You're a horrible liar, you know."

"I never saw a reason to learn to be a good liar. I never had to be." Nate replied, carefully pulling the thread taut. "Not around you, at least."

"Ow. That was your first mistake. Don't you know, Nate? You can't lie to a liar."

"Then why should I bother trying to?"

"Why _do_ you bother trying to?" Sophie shot back.

"Old habits, I guess." Nate shrugged. He tied off the thread and cut it close to the knot, then taped gauze over the wound. "You're all done."

"Grab me a shirt?" Sophie asked, her head laying on her crossed arms.

"Sure. Where are they?"

"Closet, on the right side." Sophie murmured, pushing herself to slowly sit up. Nate dug through the closet and emerged with a button-up shirt, helping her put it on. "You're annoyingly helpful."

"Am I?"

"Yes. I'm trying to be mad that you shot me."

"Are you?" He sounded amused.

"_Yes_. You know that this is going to scar."

"So? It's just a scar."

"_Just a scar?!_" Sophie's voice was approaching octaves that only dogs would be able to hear. "It's going to be huge and ugly and impossible to miss! It's going to take an entire _bottle_ of foundation to cover it up!"

"It's on your lower back. Do you intend to show that off to all your marks?" Nate snapped. Sophie flushed.

"Well it's certainly none of your business if I do." She retorted, her voice barbed.

"_What? _Are you serious, Sophie?!"

"I don't see why it should matter to you."

"Because, Sophie, you're supposed to _con_ people to get what you want, not _seduce_ them!" Nate exclaimed.

"Nathan, I've been a grifter for a very long time. I know what I'm doing, thanks. I don't need your input!" She rolled onto her side, facing away from him and ignoring him pointedly. He sighed and grabbed the box of first aid supplies before striding into the bathroom. His shirt was stained with blood, his jacket and tie ruined. He took them off and wrapped a bandage awkwardly around his shoulder, just a thin layer, since he was sure he would have to replace the bandage Sophie wore, and he didn't want to waste them. He felt the bullet still in his shoulder, and he knew he would have to dig it out, but that could easily wait for a while.

Sophie was either asleep or convincingly faking it when he got out and he settled himself uncomfortably on her couch, leaving her with the bed. His shoulder throbbed painfully, driving him to want to sleep, but he resisted, wanting to be awake in case Sophie needed him. Still, blood loss and fatigue got to him and he sank into unconsciousness. His dreams were dark and confused. They were full of color; bright reds and blacks and oranges and yellows. Fire colors that made him too hot and uncomfortable. He woke up in an uncomfortably cold sweat, his shoulder burning painfully.

He got up slowly, just for something to do, and went to check on Sophie, who was tossing in her bed. "Sophie. _Sophie!_"

"Nate!" She woke up quickly, sitting up. The sudden movement made her cry out, but she didn't stop moving until she was in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder. "Oh, Nate."

"Sophie, what is it? What's wrong?" She shook her head and just held him, shivering. He held her tighter, his face in her hair. "It's okay, Sophie. It was just a dream." He promised. "You're okay."

She laughed tearfully. "I've been shot, Nate."

"Well, you're _going_ to be okay." He promised. "Whatever it was, I'm here."

"God, Nate. I hate falling asleep. She still shook, he still held her. "I always have such bad dreams."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Nate asked gently. "It might help."

"It's never the same dream. I've made so many bad choices. So many mistakes." She whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a grifter, Nate. I've gotten myself into so many bad situations. I've gotten my comeuppance for it."

"What are you talking about, Sophie?"

"I mean that I've missed out on more than a few _good_ things I could have in my life."

"Like…?"

"Like _you_, for example. You and Sam. That little boy brings you such happiness. I'm jealous of you. I'll never be a mother."

Nate balked. To him, it was the worst fate imaginable. "Why not?"

"Too much scarring." She admitted. "I've always had that problem."

"Scarring? How did you-"

"How do you _think_, Nate?" Sophie snapped. "My life isn't as simple as yours. I might not make an _honest living_, but that doesn't mean that I don't work as hard as you do, and it doesn't mean that I don't have as many, if not _more_ problems. You have a lot of enemies. I have even more, and my enemies are dangerous people."

"You mean…"

"I mean that sometimes I do what I have to and take what I'm given. I mean that I've been beaten before, and pretty damn badly."

"Sophie, I-"

"You had no idea. I'm not surprised." She stated dryly. "People don't often think about what happens to people like me. Criminals, as it were."

"What happens to you?" Nate asked, already sure he knew, but morbidly curious anyway. Sophie looked away and tugged her skirt up, revealing smooth skin. She pulled it up higher and Nate could see dark, fingerprint bruises on her skin. He touched the spot gently and she hissed in pain. He gritted his teeth. "Who did this, Sophie?"

She glanced away, flushing. "Ah… Jean."

"Jean _Girard?_" Nate clarified. "The art director?" She nodded. "Sophie, did you try to stop him?"

"No." She replied. At his appalled silence, she looked up defensively. "I was running a con. He was easier to handle if I just shut up and dealt with him."

"So he did _this_?" He looked at her, his eyes dark and cold with fury that both terrified and excited her. To be on the receiving end of that hateful look would be a horrible thing, but she knew that his anger was for _her_. "I'm going to bring him down, Sophie."

"Nate, _no!_ You'll ruin me if anyone finds out what happened with me and Jean."

"I never said I was bringing him down for that." He replied. He went to dig through her closet and came out in a shirt that some man left there once upon a time at some point. "I'm taking the Degas with me."

She started to protest, but the look in his eyes told her that she really didn't have a choice. "Will you be gone long?"

He smirked cruelly. "Only as long as it takes to catch a criminal." He strode out.

Nate was gone all night and well into the morning, but when he came back, he looked satisfied. She was watching the news, where art director Jean Girard was being arrested for theft. He stood behind the couch, watching with a pleased expression on his face.

"You know that he was innocent." She murmured. "I took the painting."

"He was only innocent in that aspect. Not in other ways. He deserves jail, even if he never stole the painting." Nate replied derisively. "How are you feeling?"

"A little tired, but other than that, I'm alright." She turned her head to look at him. "What about you?"

He settled onto the couch beside her. "I'm fine." He lied. She raised her eyebrows.

"Did you even dig the bullet out, Nate?"

"Not yet, but it's not-"

"Nate!" She pushed him down. "Don't move." She commanded. She went into the bathroom and got her little emergency kit, then returned to the couch, where Nate was staring at the ceiling, looking annoyed.

"It's really not a big deal, Sophie. It doesn't even hurt." He said. She pinched his shoulder lightly and he gasped sharply.

"That's what I thought. Off. Take the shirt off."

"Sophie-"

"_Now_, Nathan."

He sighed and unbuttoned the shirt, pulling it off. The thin bandage wrapped around his shoulder was worn, and she could see blood ready to bleed through. She removed the bandage and set to work cleaning the wound, all the while lecturing him on why he should take better care of himself, because stunts like this could get him killed and didn't he know that he could get lead poisoning?

He stayed patiently still through her treatment, nodding or murmuring agreements or apologies in all the right places, and she wasn't entirely sure that he was even listening. She decided that it didn't matter as she finished stitching the wound and re-bandaged it. They stayed together in her safe house for a few more days, until responsibility finally called him and he had to leave. His departure wasn't bad tempered or irritable this time, and she found that when she wasn't constantly flirting and he wasn't in a bad mood, she really, truly _enjoyed_ Nate's company. She hugged him tightly around the middle. "I'll have to steal something again soon." She teased.

"So I can arrest you?" He shook his head. "Give up theft."

"Be realistic, Nate."

He chuckled. "Take care of yourself until I come to arrest you. No more Jeans."

"You have my word."

He snorted. "Because _that's_ reliable." She swatted his chest, feigning offense.

"Get out of here, Nathan."

"Bye Sophie." She found herself watching him until he was gone. What she told him in Damascus was true. There was something special about Nathan Ford. Something different. Something that she found she really liked.


End file.
